Nageku
by Mirune Keishiko
Summary: How is a hitokiri to deal when he kills the very woman who is his happiness? [oneshot; spoilers for Tsuioku arcOAV 1]


NAGEKU  
by Mirune Keishiko  
  
  
It was a long time before the snow-wet wood caught  
fire, but Kenshin refused to leave until he had  
utterly destroyed the old man's hut. He felt a certain  
grim satisfaction on watching the small orange flames  
creep along the wooden beams. Soon the bamboo panels  
were sending up curling black smoke. When the growing  
fire reached the inside of the hut, where the wood was  
dryer and the tatami easily flammable, the flames  
raced to engulf the house, and placed within,  
Tatsumi's corpse. Turning his back upon the burning  
shack, Kenshin slowly walked to the body that  
remained.  
  
He knelt down beside it in the snow, stared long and  
hard at the pale delicate face, as if to imprint it  
upon his memory. He began to arrange the body for  
burial - reversed the kimono, folded the cold hands  
across the stomach, wrapped her carefully in his  
tattered cloak. He, who had known so many corpses in  
his life, shuddered violently every time he touched  
the cold, lifeless skin, the long dark hair. For long  
moments he stared blankly at the body before him.  
  
He tried to pray, but after a few brokenly whispered  
words he could not go on. For a long time he knelt  
there, alone, oblivious to the cold wet snow that  
swirled lightly down to cover him and the body before  
him.  
  
Then, softly, he began to cry. His sobs rose to a  
harsh, almost hysterical weeping, moaning through the  
silent forest. He wrapped his tired arms around  
himself as tightly as he could, the knuckles on his  
hands turning white. He knew who it was he wished were  
holding him, knew she was dead. His shoulders heaved  
with his sobs, his slender body shook. Around him the  
wind sighed and slowed, as if stopping to pay its  
respects to the dead.  
  
"It's better this way..."  
  
She had smiled at him then. His poor beloved wife, one  
of the few times she had ever really smiled at him was  
when she lay dying in his arms. After he had struck  
her. He clenched his fist.  
  
So fitting, he mocked himself. The Hitokiri Battousai  
to the very end. So now it seems not even love can  
change such a thing...  
  
"So please..."  
  
He could feel her soft hair falling over his arms, its  
warmth welcome to his cold-numbed skin. He had touched  
her face then, and he tried to remember how it had  
felt, so soft and smooth beneath his fingertips. Even  
then, even as his cold fingers had tingled with her  
warmth, it had been fading, the life seeping out of  
her as surely as the blood seeped out of her body.  
Hot, bitter tears made spots on his gi.  
  
"Don't cry..."  
  
He screamed then, thrust his tired, aching hands into  
the snow that was still red with her blood, raised his  
tear-streaked face to the heavens, and screamed.  
  
"TOMOE!!"  
  
  
  
It was nearly dawn by the time he finally gathered the  
strength and will to move. Kneeling in the cold wet  
snow, his many wounds still unattended to, his body  
had grown stiff and weak. Kenshin inhaled sharply as  
he tried to rise to his feet and staggered, his legs  
buckling underneath him. For a moment his head  
whirled; he struggled to stay erect. Then, shaking his  
head to clear it, he straightened with a sigh and  
picked up Tomoe's body.  
  
A proper burial, he thought dully. What she deserves.  
After all that I have done, that is the least I can  
give her.  
  
For what seemed like hours he plodded through the deep  
snow, trying to remember which way led out of Kekkai  
Forest. The trees rustled and whispered among  
themselves, nursing shadows amidst their bare  
branches. Snow had stopped falling, but the wind never  
ceased. Soon Kenshin was shivering again, his tired  
arms, carrying Tomoe, screaming for relief. But he  
would not think of laying his precious burden back  
down on the ground.  
  
Somehow he finally reached the outskirts of the  
forest. As he saw the pale light filtering through the  
treetrunks, he broke into an unconscious, frantic run,  
eager to get out of the hellish place. Tomoe's body  
felt like a thousand-ton boulder in his arms. He  
forged on hurriedly through the knee-deep snow until  
his breathing grew ragged and his legs felt like  
white-hot fire. Tears of pain, of gladness, of  
frustration streamed down his cheeks. Please, please,  
please, he prayed to no one in particular, gasping for  
breath, let me make it outside...  
  
Bursting past the last creaking, shadowy tree he cried  
out wildly, happy to see even the gray, overcast sky  
and the feebly shining sun after the terrifying  
shadows and uncertainty of the forest. He fell to his  
knees, exhausted and worn out. Gently he placed  
Tomoe's body, covered with his cloak, upon the  
newfallen snow.  
  
Then he collapsed.  
  
  
  
How long he lay unconscious in the snow, curled up  
like a fetus in his mother's womb, he had no idea. His  
body had given out at last. The emotional strain, the  
many wounds he had suffered, the blood he had lost,  
the bone-freezing cold were too much even for him. He  
lay still, floating in the vacant blackness between  
waking and sleep.  
  
The thought of going back out into the world horrified  
him. The people he would have to face, those who would  
come and say sympathetically how sorry they felt, how  
if he ever needed anything he was always welcome to  
come to them. He would accept their proffered  
condolences as gratefully as he could, but he would  
know the sour truth that soon they would forget, as  
was the way of man. They would forget about Tomoe,  
about the beautiful young lady with the starry eyes,  
with the quiet, gentle ways and the tragic past, with  
the sweet scent of white plum that from now on would  
forever burn in his mind. They would forget about him,  
who *could not* forget, even if he ever wanted to.  
They would go on about their lives as usual, while he  
alone mourned.  
  
He would mourn forever.  
  
The wound in his side hurt dully. Vaguely he realized  
he was aching all over, throbbing, pulsing soreness;  
he felt cold wetness beneath him and wondered if it  
were his blood. His ragged clothes had stuck to his  
wounds, forming makeshift bandages as the blood  
quickly congealed in the cold. He sighed, lying in the  
snow that was starting to seem almost warm. Perhaps I  
will die now...  
  
It's nicer here, he thought dreamily, here in the  
soft, peaceful darkness that swallows me. Not like  
that world of blood and violence, of blinding snow and  
chilling wind. Why go back? Nothing matters anymore.  
Tomoe is dead; the world will go on regardless of me.  
What worth am I, who cannot even protect the one  
person I care for? Who cares whether I live or die?  
What purpose do I serve? Just let me rest. I am so  
tired...  
  
Perhaps, if he stayed there long enough, he would wake  
up to find it all a dream, all a horrendous nightmare.  
Perhaps he would open his eyes to the ceiling of their  
little hut in the village, the smells of tea and  
breakfast, and Tomoe watching him from the doorway.  
Even though her lips would not smile, her eyes  
would...  
  
"Good morning, Kenshin." She said it teasingly,  
watching him sit up in bed. This was a rare occasion,  
when Kenshin awoke later than Tomoe. As habit  
compelled him, he was usually up by daybreak.  
  
He smiled at her. She was exceptionally pretty this  
morning, it seemed. "I'm just finishing breakfast,"  
she said, disappearing into the kitchen as he dressed.  
  
He walked out onto the porch. Everyone had remarked  
how odd it was for such a little cottage to have a  
porch in the back, but Kenshin merely smiled. He liked  
porches. He himself had broken open one of the walls  
of the bedroom and built the porch, so that he had a  
quiet, peaceful place where he could think or  
meditate. The porch faced trees and flowering shrubs.  
Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would start a proper  
garden.  
  
Tomoe was there again, coaxing him to eat breakfast.  
He smiled and allowed himself to be led, as she caught  
hold of his sleeve and urged him along, chatting  
comfortably. He stared at her in admiration, barely  
listening to what she was saying. Her eyes were full  
of light and energy, color enhanced her pale cheeks as  
she talked about what she would do that day. On  
impulse he kissed her on her full, soft lips.  
  
She kissed him back gently, but pulled away sooner  
than he would have liked. She placed a finger on his  
mouth, whispered "Later" into his ear. He broke into a  
broad smile and she went ahead, looking back at him  
affectionately over her shoulder.  
  
He followed agreeably into the dining area, where  
breakfast was already laid out. Before they could sit  
down, however, a gabble of small, cheerful voices  
sounded at the door, and hushed as there came polite  
knocking. Kenshin smiled; the children were eager to  
see him. He opened the door.  
  
Bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, the little children  
swarmed around him the moment he stepped out the  
doorway. He smiled back, returning their affectionate  
greetings. They began tugging at him - on his sleeves,  
his hands, whatever piece of him they could reach,  
chattering eagerly about the games they would play.  
Kenshin was happy to oblige, but he looked back at  
Tomoe, who stood in the doorway, watching with merry  
eyes.  
  
"Come with us," Kenshin called out to her, smiling.  
  
But she shook her head cheerily. "It's all right. I'll  
stay here for now. You go with them. For now, they're  
the ones who need you."  
  
The children had halted when Kenshin had, and now they  
looked up at him expectantly. One particularly  
restless little boy fidgeted as Kenshin insisted to  
his wife, "But it won't be the same without you."  
  
"You'll be just fine." And - wonder of wonders - Tomoe  
actually smiled. It was a small smile, but it was  
genuine, and Kenshin's breath left his body with a  
happy sigh.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, still hesitant.  
  
She nodded. "I'll have dinner waiting for you when you  
get back."  
  
He smiled at her, she smiled back at him, and,  
satisfied, Kenshin turned back to the children.  
Picking up one little bright-eyed girl who had  
difficulty keeping up with them, he sat her on his  
shoulders.  
  
"Where to?" he asked the children.  
  
Their only answers were to grin up at him and to tug  
even harder on his clothes. Laughing, Kenshin  
followed, pulled along by his persistent little  
friends. He looked back once, toward the cottage. The  
door was shut, but Tomoe could be heard inside,  
singing softly as she went about her chores.  
  
The smiling, chattering children led him on, deeper  
into the thin, sunlit woods that carpeted the  
foothills.  
  
  
  
  
"Is he okay?"  
  
"He's pale!"  
  
"Is he going to die, Minomi-san?"  
  
"I'm still checking. Be quiet for a minute."  
  
The small, anxious voices subsided. Gentle fingers  
prodded him here and there, tested the joints and  
bones. An audible hissing intake of breath as the gi  
was lifted, the cloth sticking to the bloody wounds  
beneath. Kenshin struggled to awaken.  
  
"Who..." He opened his eyes, blinking against the  
pale, bleak sunlight.  
  
A large man's face hovering over his smiled  
soothingly. It took a moment before Kenshin recognized  
him as one of the miners in the village and a repeat  
customer of his.  
  
"Relax," said the burly man quietly. "You're pretty  
beat up. Nothing's broken, so I'll be taking you to  
the village doctor myself."  
  
Kenshin nodded wordlessly and shut his eyes, but they  
flew open once again in a moment. "Tomoe!" he cried in  
alarm, sitting up so fast pain shot through his body  
and a groan escaped his lips.  
  
The man's statement was solemn. "She's still where  
you put her. Lie still for now." He looked away. "Good  
thing you covered her up; it's no fit thing for  
children to see."  
  
For there were children around, Kenshin saw now that  
he was coming to his senses. A horde of people crowded  
around him, the villagers he had befriended and the  
children to whom he had been such a treasured  
playmate. They watched him with faces shadowed with  
anxiety. Kenshin's eyes strayed to one small child in  
particular, a little girl with bright eyes, now filled  
with tears.  
  
"What are you all doing here?" he asked, turning back  
to his friend.  
  
"The children found your house empty and felt  
something was wrong. So we all turned out to search  
for you, and - here we are. Now, put your arms around  
my neck. I'm carrying you."  
  
Kenshin didn't move. "Tomoe."  
  
The man sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, my  
friend," he murmured. "I truly am."  
  
Kenshin shook his head impatiently. "I must go to the  
temple. Today."  
  
"You're in no condition--"  
  
Kenshin's eyes narrowed. For a moment he forgot all  
about himself, his body, about his weakness and  
injuries, and rose to his feet, his left hand straying  
to the sheath of his sword.  
  
Startled, the man stepped backward. "Kenshin?"  
  
Tomoe, his mind whispered. Tomoe is all that matters.  
Kenshin clicked out his sword, his right hand grasped  
the hilt... and he staggered. The hot, metallic taste  
of blood filled his mouth, something trickled warm and  
wet down his chin. He slumped, letting go of his sword  
to support himself.  
  
"Easy, easy," called out several voices at once, amid  
the rising wail of the children. His vision dimming,  
Kenshin felt hands support him, then he was lifted by  
strong, muscled arms onto a broad back.  
  
"Karashi, you and Mijiko take the body to the temple,"  
a deep voice said quietly. "But tell them to hold the  
burial until Kenshin's recuperated. Maybe tomorrow  
afternoon."  
  
At that, Kenshin struggled to open his heavy-lidded  
eyes in alarm. Tomorrow is too long, he wanted to  
protest. Tomoe should be laid to rest right away...  
  
A small hand slipped into his, and, startled, Kenshin  
turned his head weakly to see who it was. The little  
bright-eyed girl held his hand confidingly, looking up  
at him with concern.  
  
It was too much for him. Kenshin closed his eyes with  
a sigh, seeing Tomoe smile at him from the doorway,  
and let the darkness reclaim him.  
  
  
--owari--  
  
  
notes: "nageku" means "regret, grieving, lamentation."  
(Grateful acknowledgement to Risu-chan at KFFDISC for her  
beautifully made "Toki to ki to koneko kitto..."  
story, from which I got this term.)   
disclaimer: To the nitpicking lawyers who are  
carefully scrutinizing this pathetic little piece, the  
characters (and idea) of Tomoe, Kenshin, and the  
adorable little chlidren aren't mine. They belong to  
Nobuhiro Watsuki and his brilliant artistry, and  
Shueisha and Fuji TV and maybe Sony Entertainment  
and... well, whoever else owns them. (Not me.) This  
isn't making any money, so get rid of that nasty  
little gleam in your eyes already.  
  



End file.
